Dawn's Early Light
by Kate Christie
Summary: Happy Fourth of July, America. An AU season 2 hiatus Castle fic. Sort of makes a series out of unrelated "Independence" and "Liberty." Thanks to Airbefore and Caffinate-me for the beta.


Dawn's Early Light

Adrenaline zings up her spine, straightens her shoulders, propels her out the door and into the bullpen. Bastard's going to hang by his own confession.

Four days, five nights, and six dead women. Endorphins cannot stop the clench in her gut as she pulls their photos from her board, places them in their cardboard home to await the lawyers.

Purple-gray streaks paint the Eastern sky when she looks out the window, waiting for the final sputter of espresso before she can caffeinate one last time. Home, shower, and bed float just beyond that horizon.

Plumes of rich, nutty steam rise to her nose as she takes a sip, shuts her eyes on that moment of pleasure. And then his smile appears behind her eyelids, and she shakes her head, downs the shot, and rinses her cup.

Desk tidy, she goes in search of her team, finds her boss instead.

"Beckett, you haven't slept since Monday. Go home."

"I will, Sir, as soon as I file the paperwork."

"I'm sure they've got it half done already." Montgomery tips his head in the direction of the conference room where Esposito sits with Ryan, pages fanned out around them, heads bowed. "I already told them not to show their faces until Tuesday."

"Tuesday?"

"Today's the Fourth of July, Detective. Tomorrow's a national holiday. You wouldn't want to be unpatriotic."

Smiling, Kate rolls her eyes.

"No, sir."

Clouds burn golden orange as she steps onto the sidewalk, grateful for the deserted morning streets for her walk home. Tugging her phone from her pocket, she clicks the ringer back on, finds three voicemails waiting.

"Katie, just in case you catch the guy in time, you can always come watch fireworks from the balcony tomorrow night. I have a few friends coming. There may be hot dogs. Just don't report us for the sparklers. I love you."

Lips curling up, she sees her mom and dad's faces lit by only those sparklers, standing on that same balcony two decades ago, watching the show over the East River. If she naps, maybe she'll join him.

"Katherine Beckett, if you finish that case you had better get your skinny little butt to my place to make up for ditching girls' night twice this week. And it's your turn to bring the wine, because I did not save any for you tonight."

Gene flips the sign to "open" on the door of her favorite pastry shop just as she rounds the corner. Maybe she should grab breakfast and something chocolate and ridiculous for Lanie as a peace offering. Kate stops cold with her hand on the doorknob when she hears the start of the last message.

"I saw the case on the news. I'm sure it's yours. I just… I wish I were there." There's a pause, the grate of a throat clearing, as her heart stutters in her chest. "But I'm here, alone, since Memorial Day, actually. And I've probably had more Scotch than I should have, because I told myself I wasn't going to-" Another pause, punctuated by a huff of breath, and her hand drops from the door, limp at her side. "Look, if you're not still - if you don't have… other plans... my offer still stands. There'll be fireworks tomorrow night - I guess that's tonight. It's almost two. Anyway, I'm at 55 Dunes Lane, right off Montauk Highway. I miss - everyone."

Breakfast no longer appeals.

By the time her key turns, she has listened to it four times. Heard the wobble in his voice when he didn't ask if she still had a boyfriend.

In the shower, she grabs the coconut conditioner, feels her tired muscles start to relax as images of white sand and blue eyes - waves - blue waves - fill her fuzzy brain.

Staring in the mirror, brushing her teeth, dark circles stare back. She won't go.

Curling under her quilt, she sinks into cool sheets, lets her hard edges soften. She can't go.

# * # * # * #

Rosy-edged clouds dot the sapphire sky as Castle downs the last of his water and stands from his desk chair, back cracking in protest of the hours spent hunched over his laptop.

His head no longer pounds, but opening his refrigerator door, nothing appeals. Certainly not the pair of steaks he had bought the night before, after two drinks spent deflecting offers at the patio bar in town.

Clicking his phone on, he finds only a text from his daughter, wishing him a Happy Fourth. Scrolling back, he finds the listing in his outgoing calls. Clenches his jaw again at the hazy memory. Maybe he hadn't actually left a message. Maybe he had dreamed that part. He had certainly spent hours conjuring up versions of how they would meet again, how he would win her over with his sparkling wit and ruggedly handsome smile.

No missed calls. That shouldn't send his heart sinking in his chest. She has Demming. And he'll be immortalized for all time thanks to today's creative spurt. Grabbing a sparkling water, he shuts the fridge, downs half the bottle in one gulp.

When the doorbell chimes, the bottle hits the floor.

# * # * # * #

Happy Fourth of July, America!

Thanks to Alex and Jenny for the quick beta.

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